Taking The Bambi Mentality To Heart

Seriously, if I knew I didn't have to restrain my big mouth while shopping, I might've gone more often. My indoor voice is spectacularly unsubdued.  Yesterday I was surrounded by shouters, yellers, and raised voices while at a store.  Oh my.

I had about nine kids with me, unusual enough in and of its own self, when the high school Principal drove by, leaning out of his truck window shouting happily at us.  I really like this guy, he's young, handsome, and he'd taught many of my kids back in middle school, and knows them pretty well, always a plus for us.  He's understanding and a very positive, friendly guy.  I have eight teenagers up at the high school, I'm glad he's there with them.

"Awkward!" Allen, 17, leaned in to me, as if his inner voice told him that principals lived deep within the schools in which they worked, rather than having a home, a wife and kids.

I soon hollered into my own phone, "We ain't that Mexican," to Pepe, as he'd suggested that he and an older birth brother were now old enough to legally ride in the back of my pick-up truck.

I'd never allow that.

Pepe was cackling into the phone, silly and hyper, excited about our upcoming plans, I passed my phone to Chuy so he could talk to Pepe, while I tended to the matter at hand, paying for some new jeans for him.

"Well, we can cram in the cab like other Mexicans do," Pepe had continued.

We finally settled on a designated meeting place.  I need to drive the truck out there as it uses so much less gas than my 15 passenger gas hog van.  Money issues have been a bear lately for me.  I'd hollered loudly regarding my retirement check being cut even more by the rise in my insurance premium.  OUCH.

Lily desultorily plowed through piles of fancy pants jeans, a million percent disinterested in all the choices.  "So run of the mill," my resident artist informed me, preferring thrift stores and Goodwill.  She always finds a pile of that which she loves in second-hand places.  "I don't wanna look like everyone else," she always stresses.

Every single one of my 18 daughters are fabulously traffic-stoppingly beautiful, all with their own unique and lovely sense of style.  I've been spectacularly blessed.  My granddaughters are carrying on the family traditions of strong, unswayed females.  I love that.  I. Love. That.  They all carry themselves beautifully.  Amazing since their mom's mom is such a dork.  But a happy dork is a good dork, right?

Supper last night was fun, the kids were silly, laughing, joking, and loudly carrying on, and it's just so dang nice.  So dadgum wonderful so be amongst such glee.

Grandma'd made a meatball spaghetti sauce, I'd made a separate vegan one with black olives, mushrooms, garlic, onions and a sack of peppers I'd grown and frozen last summer.

Oregano, cayenne, and jalapenos from my garden, plus two varieties of bell peppers and sweet pimento ones that I'd grown and preserved.  Oh my goodness, I ate a ton and a half, guzzling chamomile tea - my go to in cold weather, raw of course, no sweetener ever added.

As I ate, I bemoaned the fact that I still haven't found a decent way to preserve my basil, it might maintain it's flavor, but when reconstituted it's always nasty looking.

Back in my own ignorant dark ages when I'd enjoyed Sugar Free Dr. P on occasion, before I'd finally smacked my own forehead in the 1980s and asked myself, "What dummy drinks brown chemicals?" they'd used a new sweetener - Asparatame - and I'd immediately developed a slight red rash on my forehead in response.  Ditching the sodas eliminated the problem and opened my eyes to the crap that the FDA allows.

I'd become enraged at the EPA today when I'd read this article about us not protecting our children from chemicals.  Well no SPIT! I wanted to holler, y'all are the buttholes who are allowing it's production and distribution.

Why do you think I garden organically?  I worked super hard to dry up two quarts of oregano each year, I could simply just buy it, but how rewarding would that be?  Zippo.

Cristy, now 35,  took Jack to the 007 movie yesterday and she'd made me some incredibly fragrant salves for my skin, all natural of course, that made my older faves Burt's Bees Garden Salve smell plastic-y in comparison.  Sarah'd recently told me that Burt's Bees had been bought put by a monolithic corporation.  (Clorox) There goes its uniqueness, as clearly they'll replace natural ingredients with cheaper fake alternatives.

Sarah has a recipe for some body lotion that I'm gonna make.  Our skin is the largest organ and we unknowingly apply all sorts of crap to it via phthalates and other goop that transcends our protective barrier.

Call me an old hippie, I don't care.  I just wanna feel good, not poisoned.  I'm embracing my inner tree-hugger feelings.

Lily'd watched Vegucated with me, now greatly appalled, neither of us could watch the animal parts, covering our eyes, maybe we do have a Bambi approach to animal cruelty after all.  PETA here I come.

Sarah and I had long ago read book after book regarding vegetarianism, if I could change any one thing?  I'd have gone vegan decades ago.